


That Threaten and Adore

by PaintedPianoBlack



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, poto!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:15:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedPianoBlack/pseuds/PaintedPianoBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabelle had never taken much stock in the stories, not like Ruby, the ballet mistress’s granddaughter, who took an unparalleled delight in peering into the darkness of the flies and the back halls of the opera and seeing monsters there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Threaten and Adore

”I’m telling you, I saw him! Just as clear as you see me; the lights were changing out between scenes must’ve caught him by surprise!”

 

"Saw who?" That was Emma, a relative of Marie’s and the newest member of their troupe.

 

"Oh, they haven’t told you yet?" Ruby’s eyes flashed. She always enjoyed telling the newcomers all the rumors and mysteries of the opera, and her favorite was the tale of the specter said to haunt the building. "They call him the Dark One. They say he’s some kind of demon that they accidentally dredged up from hell when they built the opera. I didn’t believe it at first, but then I saw him for myself!"

 

Is it true, then, that he’s got scales for skin, like a lizard?” Said Ella, a demure blonde who’d worked with the washerwomen before Madame Lucas had discovered her talent for dance.

 

"More like a dragon, I’d say. And big black eyes that glow in the dark, and wicked sharp teeth and claws, and dressed all in leathers made from human skin!"

 

There was a collective shudder from all present, but not everyone was convinced.

 

"There’s no way you could’ve seen all that, not in one flash of light!" Emma was obviously skeptical, and Marie and several others murmured their assent. "Besides, how do you know it wasn’t just one of the stagehands playing a prank?"

 

"Could a stagehand disappear into thin air, soundless, as if he’d never been there at all?" 

 

"If it was like he was never there, he probably never was."

 

"I wouldn’t be so sure. There are strange things happening as of late; I heard the managers talking today…" Ariel chimed in from Isabelle’s side.

 

Isabelle knew exactly what she was referring to; she had been with her when the new managers had passed by on their way to their offices. The two men had looked obviously harried, and had spoken in low voices about outrageous demands made of them by some person claiming to be the infamous Dark One. Isabelle had simply assumed that someone was attempting to use the old legends of the opera as a means of extortion. She couldn’t deny, however, that Ariel was right; there had been strange occurrences all throughout the opera. It had started innocently enough: set pieces and costumes going missing, one memorable occasion had ended with the statues framing the grand lobby staircase wearing pink tutus. And they had yet to recover the opera’s prized stallion, Cesare, in the weeks since he had gone missing from the stables. Then things began to grow more unsettling- people would hear strange, gibbering voices in empty hallways and darkened rooms- poor Sidney Laverre quit, he said, out of fear for his life and sanity.

 

And then the accidents began. Trapdoors would come unlatched of their own accord, ropes would break and drapes would fall from the flies; just last week Regina, the opera’s lead soprano, had nearly been crushed to death by a falling counterweight. 

 

There was no denying that strange things were afoot at the opera, and though Isabelle shared some of Emma’s skepticism regarding the existence of a demon haunting the place, she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Someone was certainly making a great deal of mischief, supernatural or not, and there was no telling how much longer this mayhem would continue, nor just how dangerous these accidents would become. Suppose whatever person was behind this did not intend to relent until their mischief ended in deaths and not just near misses.

 

She became aware of a sudden cessation in Ruby and Emma’s argument, prompted by the distinctive click of hard-soled shoes in the hallway.

 

"Quick, the candles!" Ruby whispered. "Granny’ll have our necks if she catches us up this late again."

 

There was a frenzied shuffling among the girls I the dormitory, and the candles buttered out just as the footsteps reached the door. All was still for a long moment before they retreated, and by then a sleepy lull had settled over the girls. From a corner bed came the dull sound of snoring; Rory was already fast asleep. There would be no more ghost stories tonight. 

 

Isabelle turned over in her little be and tried to quiet her pensive thoughts. Tomorrow night was the season’ so pending gala; surely these occurrences must come to a head then. The thought filled her with distant dread. She only hoped whatever misfortune might befall the performance would leave her friends unscathed.

 

————————

 

The day of the gala passed surprisingly without incident, but Isabelle’s anxieties remained. During practice she felt as though a razor sharp dagger hung over her head as she danced, waiting to fall upon her should she make a single misstep. She was not alone; other girls were on edge as well. Ruby couldn’t help glancing up at the catwalks, and several times Madame Lucas felt the need to chastise one of the girls for her obvious distraction. Even skeptical Emma was affected: she’d misplaced her best shoes this morning and though she spurned Ruby’s suggestion that her disbelief had angered the Dark One, she could produce no explanation for their disappearance.

 

"Alright girls, take a break!" The ballet mistress finally said. "I hope you remember how to concentrate before the curtain rises."

The girls sagged to the floor, each rubbing her aching feet. Ariel looked over at Isabelle, her face as red as her hair from exertion.

 

"I can’t stop worrying about tonight." She whispered. "You feel it too, don’t you? That something horrible’s going to happen."

 

"I know. I want to think it’s just nerves, but…"

 

"Do you think it’s true what Ruby said, that there’s a demon in the opera that’s got it out for us?"

 

"I don’t know about a demon, but someone out there obviously isn’t very happy with us."

 

At that moment there came a great commotion behind them, loud enough to silence the natural din of the auditorium as everyone turned toward the source of the sound. This was a common sight- the new managers had entered the theatre, bickering back and forth as they were wont to do. Many in the cast and crew, Isabelle included, were astounded that the two men had ever become business partners at all, as they seemed ever at odds with each other. It’s wasn’t terribly hard to see why; the two were as different in manner and personality as could be. The first was a man called Hatter, and he was eccentric even by operatic standards. He never went without what he termed his “lucky hat” jauntily perched on his head, even indoors, and he was either gifted or cursed with a strange artistic vision which drove him to offer his own insights regarding costume and set design. More often than not these were discarded on terms of impracticality, but the man seemed never to notice, no doubt forgetting his previous fancies in favor of present ones.

 

His partner, if her could be called that, was a calm, stoic man who on comparison to Hatter seemed almost dour. He was called Whale, and had apparently happened upon the managerial trade as an escape from his failed career as a surgeon. If Hatter was obsessed with detail, Whale could only focus on the whole, and it was his often voiced opinion that his pragmatism was the only thing keeping the opera running. He had but two vices: drink and leering at the ballet and chorus girls, the latter of which earned him many a rebuff, often physical, from Madame Lucas.

 

But if the managers’ irreconcilable differences caused any difficulties, these were more than made up for by the entertainment value of their arguments.

 

"I don’t care what the rumors say; this is simple extortion!" That was Whale, slivers of foreign accent tinging his voice and belying his agitation. "I am not paying out pensions to a ghost!"

 

"Rumors! We’re beyond rumors now, don’t you think?" Hatter’s voice was low and icily cold, a far cry from his normal whimsical discourse. "Or shall we wait until something more happens? A "disaster beyond imagination", perhaps?"

 

"My god, you really are mad! You expect me to believe that some creature is responsible for these accidents?"

"You can’t deny that these things don’t just happen on their own."

 

"Of course they do, you idiot! That’s why they’re called accidents!"

 

Hatter sighed. “Well I suppose it’s a bit late to do anything about it now, anyway. We can only hope that this “Dark One” appreciates a good opera more than vengeance.”

 

"Were there all the time in the world, I’d still do nothing. If this specter wants his money so badly then he can take it from me tonight, and his precious bow with it."

 

"And they call me mad. But I’ll join you, if only to ensure this beast does not swallow you up. I can’t imagine I’d find anybody willing to co-manage this place after that."

 

Whale rolled his eyes liberally, but Hatter only grinned. Their argumentative track had taken them down the length of the stage, and as they disappeared into the backstage corridors the dull roar of conversation started up again, spurred on by the managers’ dispute. Then Ruby, sitting closest to the door through which the managers had exited, made a discovery.

 

"Look at this! They dropped a letter." Ruby help up a small, carefully folded piece of paper, and the other girls- along with numerous stagehands and musicians- crowded around as she read out the message:

 

"My dear managers: It has not escaped my attention that you have entirely failed to heed my requests. I have borne this insolence with more than due lenience, but you understand my patience wears thin. The details of our agreement should have been made clear to you, as they are outlined in your own managerial contract. If you continue to neglect your obligations, you will find me a powerful enemy. I will grant you one last reprieve: you will, before the curtain rises on the third act of tonight’s performance, have surrendered to me my 20,000 francs and my customary box. If my demands are not met, I can promise retribution and disaster beyond imagination. Do not try my patience. -D.O."

 

"What does that mean? D.O.?" Ella asked.

 

"Dark One, obviously." Ruby was beside herself with excitement. "I told you the stories were true!"

 

"It’s just a letter, Ruby." Emma cut in. "Anyone could have written that; it’s probably just some one trying to take advantage of the rumors."

 

The two instantly became the center of their own argument, both sides backed up by fellow believers and skeptics from the crowd. Isabelle and Ariel remained on the outer edge of the throng, both insure just what to make of this.

 

"There had to be something going on, I think." Ariel murmured. "Even if it’s not a demon, someone must be behind this."

 

"You may be right; this is a bit too strange to be a coincidence. I just hope no one gets hurt."

 

It was then that Madame Lucas made her reappearance, snatching the ominous missive out of Ruby’s hand with an almost superhuman quickness.

 

"Alright, alright, Dark One or no the show must go on." She announced to the room at large. It seemed the ballet mistress was one of the few who held both belief and a complete lack of fear in the opera’s demon. "Back to your places now."

 

As Isabelle returned to her row and began her warm ups, she felt again that distant sense of dread. The dagger had returned, and as she danced she felt as though if she looked up she could catch sight of the blade, glinting wickedly in the gaslight.

 

———————

 

Some hours later the curtain call was upon them and talk of the Dark One’s threat had all but subsided in the humming atmosphere behind the stage. This was always Isabelle’s favorite part of working at the opera: the thronging closeness of the pre-show readiness, where one might brush shoulders with a queen or a knight or an ancient hero, while the whole sparkled bright with shimmering silks and glittering rhinestones. Tonight was The Magic Flute, and Isabelle felt as though she could sense a kind of supernatural energy in the air. She only hoped it was due to the nature of the opera and not something more sinister.

 

Completing the final warmups left Isabelle not with aching feet, but teeming with energy. She quickly joined the tutu’d throng at the edge of the backstage darkness to catch a glimpse of the first raising of the curtain. The gala had been touted as the premier event of the season, so it came as no surprise that the house was sold out, gaudily dressed patrons milling about the seats. It was Ruby that noted in rapid whispers that even the Dark One’s box was occupied by the managers and a small group of their friends. Isabelle wagered that whoever had sent that letter would not take kindly to that.

 

Still, the first act of the opera went splendidly in a procession of theatrical opulence that put even the most affluent of patrons to shame. In light of the distinct lack of disaster the tension of the previous hours seemed to fade into the aether and the ballet company retreated backstage to await their true debut. At last, at the opening of the third act the ballet was upon them, and at once Isabelle’s strange sense of foreboding returned. It certainly did not help that as they passed the receding actors she heard Regina mutter darkly how she had almost tripped over a trapdoor that had sunken slightly below the stage. Isabelle leant forward to warn the other girls, but it was too late; the first row of dancers were already taking their places on stage and she could only follow. She couldn’t help but look around warily, examining the stage for uneven boards as best she could. Then the curtain rose to the opening notes of the ballet, and Isabelle forced her best smile and tried to focus on the show.

 

The dance began easily enough, and Isabelle soon forgot her trepidation amidst the frenzy of activity and the adrenaline of the performance. The halfway point came and went, and still it appeared that all was well. 

 

It was only as the dancers were winding up to the finale that disaster struck. 

 

For the final position, every other girl from the second row was to leap forward in between the front row and land at the front of the stage. Isabelle landed with nary a wobble, but as she held her place she heard from her right a scream and a horrible crash. Isabelle’s head whipped around to the source of the noise- Ariel’s position. She leapt to her feet when she saw what had caused the commotion. The other girls were already crowding around and the audience craning their necks to see what had occurred.

 

Ariel’s landing spot was directly on top of the rightmost trapdoor- this had collapsed beneath her, and the girl lay in a heap below the stage. Normally the space below the trapdoors would be padded with thick mattresses when they were in use, but since tonight’s performance had had no need of them Ariel had nothing but the hard wooden floor to beak her fall, some ten feet straight down. Isabelle felt her heart stop when she saw that Ariel’s extended leg was bent at an unnatural angle- almost certainly badly broken.

 

The moments that had heretofore seemed to stretch out like a rope pulled taut were now snapped back, time appearing to run in a blur to catch up. In a flash the curtain fell, Madame Lucas was ushering the girls offstage, and a pair of stagehands appeared with Ariel on a stretcher, her face pale and fists clenched white with pain.

 

Isabelle fought her way to her friend’s side, and Ariel’s eyes lost some of their glassiness when she saw her. The stretcher never stopped, and Isabelle had to struggle to keep pace with the crown as Ariel reached out to her. As they passed through the archway to the dormitories where the doctor waited, Ariel pulled Isabelle close and muttered something in her ear.

 

"It was him, Belle." There was no doubt as to who she meant. "He was there in the dark when I fell, standing over me like a gargoyle. I wasn’t the one he wanted, though; he ran away as soon as he saw who I was."

 

They laid Ariel out on a bed, the stagehands retreating with the stretcher to make way for the doctor, who staunchly excised Isabelle and a handful of onlookers from the room. She found herself leant against the wall in the hallway as Ruby and the rest of the troupe huddled around her.

 

"What happened?" Ruby demanded, her normally cheerful curiosity turned urgent alarm. "What did she tell you?"

 

"What do you mean ‘what happened’?" Emma cut in. "The trapdoor collapsed. She fell. Pretty obvious."

 

"I’m not so sure…" Isabelle answered quietly. All the busting conversation fell quiet at this, each of the girls pressing impossibly close to hear what she had to say.

 

"Ariel said she saw someone in the darkness after she fell. She said- she said it was the Dark One."

 

"I knew it!" Ruby announced. This declaration restarted the conversation instantly. 

 

"Maybe it was just a stagehand down below."

 

"Bit there’s never anyone stationed below the stage if we’re not using the traps, and besides, the men who carried her here said they saw no one."

 

"Maybe she hallucinated? She just broke her leg, maybe she was in shock."

 

But Isabelle couldn’t forget the absolute certainty in Ariel’s eyes as she told what she saw. Though not the most level-headed of girls, Ariel could not lie to save her life. Isabelle knew that whatever had occurred in the darkness, the redhead believed she had seen the Dark One.

 

At length the incessant argument weighed on Isabelle’s already fraying nerves and she retreated to her bed. The dormitories were empty now; the doctor had conveyed Ariel away to set her leg. It was with a jolt that Isabelle realized the consequences of tonight’s events. Ariel could hardly dance with a broken leg, and there was no guarantee that she would ever again be able to dance at all. For all Isabelle knew, she had danced with her friend for the last time.

 

In the darkness of the dormitory, amidst the trickle of girls wandering in from the hallway, Isabelle wept.


End file.
